Streetlights scratch a path between curtains that won't meetAnd steal the dark from my eyes that would taxi me to sleep,Until the sullen dazzle shakes my mind from its unrestAnd weakness calms my body's need for sating, more or less,But in those minute hours of staring at the paintI long for your call to come, though I know that it's too late...

Wraiths drift about as I slip off at lastInto the arms of a dream that I will not remember:Standing in an unfurnished room where we could live.He says the rent is quite low because a tramline runs pastAnd a bell rings aloud as the train passes by,Railing against the sleepers where they lie,And by the house there's a river with a lock and a lever -You can open the sluice and watch time wash away,Dragging the dregs of the past out towards the sea...